


Baking

by szm



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Implied Relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-29
Updated: 2012-05-29
Packaged: 2017-11-06 06:28:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 687
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/415800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/szm/pseuds/szm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based of prompt from fennishjournal.</p><p>
  <i>"Could you maybe write me some fluff involving John, Sherlock and Lestrade?"</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Baking

“This is absolutely ridiculous!” announced Sherlock as Greg walked into his house. He turned to the corner from the hallway into the kitchen and stopped in the doorway. He couldn’t help but laugh and once he started he couldn’t stop. Tears were rolling down his face. It had been a long, dull, tiring day and he knew he should be cross that Sherlock had somehow broken into his house and wrecked his kitchen, but this, this sight was worth it. He dug his phone out of his pocket and took a photo. “Lestrade,” said Sherlock a warning in his tone. But that just made Greg laugh harder.

Sherlock was stood in the middle of the kitchen wearing the apron Great Aunt Jean had given him as a housewarming present years ago. It had a heavily muscled male torso printed on it. It looked as if a bag of flour had exploded over Sherlock making him look like a powdery ghost. There were bowls and floury hand prints over every surface, batter of some kind splattered up some of the walls and most of Sherlock’s face. A face that was cast in an expression of utter indignation, as if the owner had been subjected to the worst torment possible.

Greg could feel the laughter bubbling up again in his chest but he managed to keep it in. “What on earth are you doing?” he asked instead, wiping the tears from his eyes.

“Making a cake, _obviously_ ,” replied Sherlock rolling his eyes and using the same tone he used when pointing out that the killer was _of course_ the wife and how could you be so stupid. Greg grinned to himself. The next time that happened he was going to have the mental picture of this moment to warm the cockles of his heart.

“ _Obvisously_ ,” Greg echoed with heavy sarcasm. “But why? And why in _my_ kitchen?”

Sherlock looked… on anyone else Greg would call it sheepish, but Sherlock didn’t do ‘sheepish’. “It’s for John.”

Greg waited for an explanation, but Sherlock’s face went stubborn and he looked away. Greg sighed; getting information from Sherlock could sometimes be like pulling teeth. He took a few steps forward so he was standing in front of Sherlock. He reached over and wiped a bit of batter off the end Sherlock’s nose. He licked it from the pad of his thumb and winced as he tasted salt. He was struck by a strong, undeniable impulse, so he leaned forward and pressed a kiss to the tip of Sherlock’s nose. When he leant back Sherlock’s eyes were wide and he touched his own nose with two fingertips.

“What… You don’t usually do that,” said Sherlock.

Greg shrugged. “You don’t usually look this cute.”

“Cute!” exclaimed Sherlock in horror, the look of affronted dignity back on his face.

“Come on,” said Greg turning away to hide his smile. “Help me clean this up and I’ll help you with the cake, deal?”

**

John was regretting the argument with Sherlock. He’d mostly been mad at Harry and Sherlock had been in the firing line. It’s not like it really _mattered_ that Sherlock had forgotten John’s birthday. It had been weeks ago, and John didn’t even like it when people made a fuss of his birthday. Not even when he’d been a kid. And now Sherlock had been gone, god knows where, for hours. John was about to give up and call Greg so he could share the worry when he heard the front door open and close. He stood up as Sherlock and Greg came in. Sherlock thrust a box at him.

John opened it to find a small Victoria sponge cake from Morrison’s inside. It had a birthday candle stuck in the top.

“Happy birthday,” said Sherlock, his eyes searching John’s face for… something. 

“Happy birthday, mate,” said Greg his eyes dancing with undisguised amusement. “Sherlock wanted to make you a cake but it turns out neither of us can bake.”

“I can,” said John for want of anything else to say. He smiled at Sherlock and something in Sherlock seemed to relax. “Thank you.”


End file.
